


Target Practice

by Spoon888



Series: Companion Pieces To Mission [1]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Family Dysfunction At It's Finest, Gen, M/M, father-son bonding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-23
Updated: 2017-01-23
Packaged: 2018-09-19 12:56:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9441269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spoon888/pseuds/Spoon888
Summary: Most Decepticons only know one way of bonding with their offspring. And it involves shooting at things.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is a companion piece following the events of [Mission](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6643972/chapters/15200419).

Mission had never had much opportunity to explore organic planets. His fickle creator had an inexplicable hatred of them. Mission couldn't imagine how anyone who was so offended at the mere mention of 'dirt' could be anywhere near mentally stable. He had mentioned so to his sire.

His sire had grounded him.

It had been a painful week, but once Soundwave was called off Mission was finally let onto the bridge once again, just in time to watch their final descent into the desert planet. He pressed himself close against the view port, servos smudging the normally pristine glass as he watched the swirling orange clouds below.

There was a heavy sigh and a large servo was drawing him away from the glass. "You can see just fine from here," his sire sounded exasperated.

Megatron was right of course. Mission forced himself to remain at his side, resisting the childish urge to run back to the glass and gawp. He had never seen an organic planet before.

"No running off," his sire told him just as the landing gear set them down, as if there wasn't an _entire planet_  to explore. Open skies and huge red mountains, and miles and miles of open land to-

"Mission?" Megatron's stern voice demanded his full attention.

He looked up, expression resigned.

"Stay by the ship." His sire rumbled, arched brow reminding Mission of past threats to have him leashed; like an unruly sparkling.

Fresh from a week confined to quarters Mission didn't have much choice but to obey. "Yes, Sire."

  
-

  
The planet had a dry heat. Mission felt his cooling fans snap online the moment he stepped off the boarding ramp. The sun was close, swollen and red; and the sand...

He kicked at it sullenly, grimacing at the itchy sensation of tiny grains slipping between the panels of his thrusters. He could understand why his creator disliked the filth and mess of organic planets now.

Not that he was going to let a little sand in his gears stop him from making the most of the short stop over.

Most of the Decepticons were busy setting up machinery; the solar-converter Starscream had spent the better half of the last few months developing with a possessed sort of determination. _It'll convert sunlight into energon,_  Starscream had told him proudly, when the monstrous thing had finally been finished and wheeled out for everyone's admiration.

_That, or it'll blow up in his face again,_ Megatron had bent to whisper knowingly in his audial.

Mission remembered finding his sire recharging on the floor that night.

They were here for the cycle, at _least_. Depending on whether the thing worked or not. Mission did his best not to provoke either of his parents into locking him back inside, but was unable to resist straying out from beneath the flagship's shadow. There was a mountain range in the distance, and he would have liked to have flown over it, seen what the landscape was like beyond these flat plains-

"Think about it, and I'll tether you to Soundwave!" His creator's voice carried easily over the whistling desert wind.

Mission waved a servo to acknowledge his creator, looking back over to where Starscream was stood apart from the working Decepticons, 'supervising'. His creator used two digits to point at his own narrowed optics before aiming them at Mission threateningly.

Mission retorted with the most sarcastic expression he could muster.

And Starscream responded to _that_  by sending his sire over.

"I think you'll find I'm innocent of any wrongdoing," Mission kicked at the dirt, having waited until his sire was close enough to hear him.

"I'm not here to ground you."

"That's a first."

"Don't tempt me." Amusement flickered across his sire's expression, "You looked bored."

"I am." Mission felt his spark lift, "Can we go flying?" He asked, thinking what it might feel like soaring through such dry, clear skies.

"And leave the Nemesis with Starscream?" His sire's optical ridge arched, "What's to stop him from deserting us here? No, I had a better idea."

 

-

 

"I already know how to shoot," Mission complained for what felt like the tenth time.

Five hundred metres ahead of them Shockwave was setting up targets of varying sizes, most of them plain black silhouettes, save for one which had been coloured in, a former victim of Skywarp's vandalisation. Though riddled with holes, It still bore striking resemblance to Optimus Prime. It was Megatron's personal favourite to shoot at.

His _other_ favourite bore wings and Starscream's smirk; and he wasn't allowed to shoot at that one anymore.

"Your creator taught you how to shoot," he corrected his sparkling with a smirk, "I'm going to teach you how to actually hit the target."

Mission scowled at him, "I'm telling him you said that."

They both looked over their shoulders. Starscream was beside his solar-converter, reclining in a chair he'd ordered the Constructicons to set up, basking in the desert sun. He was holding a cube of high grade. Someone had put a little umbrella in It for him. He turned his helm when he noticed them looking, lifting a servo and wriggling his digits coyly.

"Embarrassing," Megatron heard Mission mutter.

He caught his youngling around the shoulders and twisted him back around. "Imagine he is one of the targets," he suggested. Seeing Starscream's face usually improved _his_  aim.

With a frown, Mission lifted his nullray, pointing it at the nearest target. His arm was steady, optics focused, but he lowered the weapon with a sigh.

"What is it?" He asked.

Mission shrugged, "Rather pointless, don't you think? Unless you're using live targets, it's just a waste of power."

Megatron could see his point; but he also couldn't help but notice that Shockwave was still out there, and still in range.

"Here," he knelt, drawing Mission closer. He extended the sparkling's arm out, pointing it at his sub-commander. "Enemy target spotted."

He saw a little smile twist across Mission's face.

"Weapons set to stun," Megatron assumed a Soundwave-like cadence, waiting for Mission's arm to steady. "You may fire at will."

His sparkling breathed, fist clenching, face scrunching up in concentration. He only had one chance. Shockwave was a loyal fool but no one was stupid enough to just let themselves be shot at.

"Take your time," he murmured, watching over Mission's shoulder as Shockwave moved ever further away. "Use the auto-target-"

The nullray recoiled as it released a pulse. Megatron's helm snapped up as he watched the stream of light flash through the air and nail Shockwave right in the chest. The force of it threw him backwards, legs in the air.

He yanked his sparkling against his side with a laugh, proud grin splitting his face. Behind them Shockwave wobbled to his pedes, weapon flailing as he searched for his assailant.

Mission was trying not to look so pleased with himself. "Let's try without the stun. Can I shoot you?"

Mission's inherent bloodlust always seemed to get in the way of father-son bonding. Starscream was likely to blame.

"No." Megatron growled, in a tone that was sure to curb any further patricidal instincts. "You're grounded."

He watched Mission storm back to the ship -spitting a colourful variety of vile expletives he had undoubtably learnt from whatever nefarious company his useless creator had kept over the vorns- and wondered where such disrespectful behaviour could have stemmed from.

Until he spotted Starscream snapping his digits impatiently, gesturing to his empty high-grade cube.

Question answered.

 


End file.
